


not quite a fairytale

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"he's never beaten someone he loves, never even played them, not like this"</p><p>Takes place after the first (perhaps only?) time Mardy and Marat played each other in LA in 2006. Originally posted in August 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not quite a fairytale

Being alone is rare for Marat these days, but right now, he feels it.

For the first time in months, there's no Andy or Mardy around him, no irritating but loveable Americans with their butchered language to pester him, and it's strange. He knows it's partly his fault, there's no denying that, he didn't have to beat Mardy, but he had done, and he briefly wonders if it would have been the same with the opposite outcome.

Because across the other side of the locker room are his lovers – before the match he and Mardy had agreed to stay away from each other – and he's still sitting, watching them, not quite believing that he beat his Mardy. Or, what looks to be Andy's Mardy, the younger American with his arms wrapped around the blonde he fell for, hands stroking bare skin, a face buried in his shoulder and even from here he can tell that Mardy's shoulders are shaking. Can tell that he's crying, because in the last few months he's become an expert in Mardy-language, almost as good as Andy, but right now, he wishes that he wasn't, because he still can't quite believe he just beat his boyfriend. The only person that's ever truly wanted him, not just a fuck or several like everyone else.

There's guilt, and usually, he doesn't do guilt, never felt the need but he can't shake this off. It's not over anything but Mardy's expression as they shook hands at the net, one of utter devastation, the fact that couldn't even look at him, had his eyes glued to a point on the floor just makes the guilt worse. He didn't want it to be like this, he just wanted to win a match, feel better about his tennis again, but if he'd known it was going to end like this he'd have let his lover win, because nothing compares to how he feels now.

Not even losing seven straight matches feels quite this bad, and he'd happily give up his win, give it to Mardy, lose every match this year for all of it to go away.

He can't stop watching them until Andy whispers something to Mardy, hand resting on his hip, stroking it gently, and Mardy manages a laugh, all so intimate, beautiful, Andy with the seemingly perfect words that he just doesn't know how to say. They've done this before, it's all in the way they dance around each other, every gesture perfect and intertwined, close the way lovers should be, because it's not all spark with them. There's friendship, understanding, adoration between them.

And that's it, as Andy wipes tears from Mardy's face and kisses him so softly it's barely a kiss, he's gone, heading to the showers, alone, and by the time he gets out, they're gone. He ignores the feeling in his stomach, the longing to kiss Mardy, to make it all better, because he knows that it won't happen now.

If Mardy had wanted him to comfort him, he would have asked, and not gone to Andy instead. So he dresses, and heads to his press conference, trying to think of anything but his lover, and the devastation on his face.

* * * *

Silence greets him as he opens the door to their room – which might just be Andy and Mardy's room by now – and he shuts the door quietly behind him, not wanting to make a sound. He's not drunk, not even close, just a little buzzed from the vodka floating through his system, and curses as he trips over the bags that someone – Mardy, he realises – has left in the middle of their living room area.

Probably Andy's fault, because the American doesn't know how to tidy up after himself, and he'd never even though he'd find someone worse than himself but Andy might just beat him. Mardy's always telling them that they're too alike to cope on their own, and really, he knows that Mardy's right, but never admit it, because it's always said with a smug smile, followed by a kiss.

He's at the bedroom door, hand on the handle, before he realises that it's shut. It's never shut, not unless all three of them are in there, Mardy and Andy always snuggling, him with one hand in Mardy's hair, playing with the strands. It always happens, just like that, but he knows what the closed door means. He's been shut out, at least for tonight, maybe for longer.

So the couch is his, and he curls himself into a corner, turning the television on for background noise because now that he's closer he can hear almost silent sobs coming from the bedroom, and he knows it's Mardy. Doesn't want to think about it, because the guilt's still there; he caused it, and he doesn't know how to fix it.

It's a while, though he doesn't know how long, until there's the click of a door, and he looks over to see Andy emerge from the bedroom, an almost-smile on his face but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. There are no words as he joins him on the couch, a hand curling into his still short hair, pulling him closer until Andy's arm is wrapped around his shoulders, fingers playing with a frayed sleeve on his t-shirt.

"He's asleep," Andy finally says, quietly, and he doesn't know whether it's not to wake Mardy or whether it's because he's upset with Marat. "Cried himself out."

Marat nods slowly, guilt eating at him again, because he didn't mean to make Mardy cry, and Andy pulls him closer, into a kiss, a real kiss, tongue running over his bottom lip as he pulls away. There's not a trace of anger in it, and he's relieved, because Andy's scary when he's really, truly mad, and the only person who can make him that mad is Mardy.

Although, he's never seen Andy that mad at Mardy, it's usually directed at other people. And that once was enough for him.

"Do you want me to leave?" he says after a pause, not having any idea what Andy's reply will be. Most of the time he's an open book but right now, Marat doesn't have a clue what he's thinking and it's a tiny bit unnerving.

"Why would I want you to do that?" There's no sarcasm, not even a hint, and he's confused, certain that it would be Andy to throw him out because he's scarily protective of his boyfriend.

"I beat your boyfriend," he starts, nuzzling into Andy's shoulder without thinking, and it gets a soft smile, "and he's mad at me because of it. I figured-"

"He's not mad. He cried, but not because you beat him." There's another kiss pressed to his mouth, shorter, not quite at tender, but it's still just as reassuring. "You didn't say anything afterwards, Marat. He thought you didn't care.. that you'd leave because he couldn't give you a match like we both know he's capable of. I knew better... but he wouldn't believe me."

By the end Andy's voice is barely audible, but the words are just as clear, and there's a whole new level or guilt that he wasn't even sure existed, because Andy's right. He'd deserted Mardy when he probably needed him the most and more than anything, he hates himself for that. He should have known better, but he didn't. He's never done this before, not like Andy and Mardy have many times over, he's never beaten someone he loves, never even played them, not like this.

"Can I see him?" he asks, unsure whether Andy will want him to see Mardy now, after he's caused all of this.

"You can even stay the night," Andy teases, with a ruffle of his hair, and a pout from the American. "Still too short for that. I miss the curls."

He doesn't bother to reply, just drags Andy into a kiss, and it's lazy and slow, and utterly perfect, and when he's pulled off the couch, hands entwined, he doesn't complain, even if it is too couple-y for his liking, and Andy knows it. Doesn't even say anything about the smirk resting on the American's lips, not as he pushes open the door to the bedroom.

Andy's already spooned around Mardy by the time he's naked, an arm draped over his stomach and kisses pressed to the back of his neck, and he crawls onto the bed carefully, not wanting to wake the blonde. When's he's settled next to him, he reaches out, running a hand over Mardy's cheek, and sleepy eyes open, revealing red-rimmed-blue.

Guilt remains until Mardy smiles, and kisses him softly, before settling back to sleep between his lovers, hand still stroking blonde hair.

He just snuggles closer, and really, that's unlike him, but just this once he'll let it slide because it's for Mardy. Just like everything else is. And he's knows they'll talk in the morning, and it's still not right, but it's better.

Closer to perfect than he'd imagined the night to be, at any rate. And for now, that's good enough for him.


End file.
